


Stranger Than April Snows

by thekeyholder



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Jim is an idiot, M/M, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 17:19:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6763075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder/pseuds/thekeyholder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is freezing his ass on a stakeout, because he's stubborn and didn't dress up properly. (It's the end of April, dammit!) Lucky for him, help arrives from (not such) an unexpected place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranger Than April Snows

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in the Gotham fandom, so be gentle. You guys, Gobblepot hit me like a train, I absolutely _had to_ write for them. Inspired by the crazy weather we had last week. I guess this is set sometime in S1, after Jim and Barbara's breakup. This is just a short story to warm me up for more serious stuff. We REALLY need some fluff around here, amirite?
> 
> Many thanks go to [Ann](http://grndmstrexo.tumblr.com/) and Dee, who helped me with the story.

Like most things in Gotham, the weather, too, was unpredictable. Detective James Gordon gritted his teeth, as he reluctantly admitted that maybe Harvey was right, and the stakeout was a royally stupid idea. Things at work were relatively calm, but Jim received info about a possible lead on the Wayne case.

 

“Come on, partner, that case is closed. _Finito_. You’d be more productive helping me with these,” Harvey grimaced, gesturing towards the stacks of files on their desks.

 

“Later. I know it’s most likely false intel, but I need to check. I promised Bruce.”

 

“Go, do your thing then. What do I care.”

 

Jim walked to the badly-famed neighbourhood, and had a look around. His informer told him that there would be a mysterious meeting in a former hat shop, and one of the parties was the man Jim had been searching for months.  He found the shop all right: _Giovanni & Sons_ was in the middle of a deserted street; every business had closed down at least a decade ago. He found the perfect vantage point under a bridge, behind one of its rusty metal columns.

 

The rumour promised the meeting to happen at noon. One hour to go then. The shop didn’t look suspect at all, which was probably why it was chosen. Through the metal grid, Jim could see hats displayed in the dusty windows, testament of a long-forgotten fashion. He imagined that in the good old days, in his father’s time perhaps, respectable men came here to get their customised hats. Nothing seemed to last in this city.

 

Not much later, Jim noticed that it was significantly cooler than in the morning when he left for work. April was said to be a volatile month in terms of weather, and it was certainly true this year: just two days ago, Jim walked home only in his shirt, his coat draped over his left arm. He even sat down on a bench in the park and enjoyed the warm sunshine. Now, the sky was overcast and the windchill left his cheeks red and his eyes teary.

 

A black car with tinted windows passed by, and Jim squared his shoulders, prepared to catch the bad guys. However, the car didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. Jim leaned against the column with a frustrated sigh. Twenty minutes to noon and still nothing, not a single sign of an illicit meeting. He slipped a hand inside his coat pocket, and felt his gun through the thin material.

 

Jim was staring at the shop when a voice addressed him from behind:

 

“I thought that was you loitering under the bridge, Detective. I saw you from the car.”

 

He knew that sly voice, oh, he knew it too well. Jim grabbed Oswald Cobblepot’s lapels in one fluid and familiar motion, and slammed his back against the column.

 

“I’m not loitering, I’m on a stakeout,” Jim growled, and looked around with wide eyes, but the streets were still deserted. “What are _you_ doing here?”

 

“I told you, I saw you from the car. Here, I brought you this.”

 

It was then that the hot smell of coffee hit Jim’s nose. He glanced down, at Oswald’s gloved hands cradling a paper cup. He looked back in the man’s greenish eyes, and let go of his lapels with a frown.

 

“Don’t worry, Detective, I’m on my way. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

 

Oswald placed the cup in Jim’s hands with a small and apologetic smile, and he hobbled away, disappearing in an alley behind the bridge. Jim watched him go as his numb fingers wound around the cup. He drank the coffee in small sips, still confused by the brief encounter. He was mad at Oswald for possibly ruining his stakeout, but at the same time the hot liquid had brought back a bit of life in his frozen body.

 

Even though his body felt numb, unfortunately, Jim’s mind didn’t stop: it was spinning with all kinds of thoughts he normally brushed aside. He didn’t like to think about how lonely he felt whenever he got home, and climbed into the empty bed. He hated how those meals-for-one would taste even blander when he would plop on the sofa, and watch TV mindlessly. He was also mad at himself for how many times he reached for alcohol to erase every feeling.

 

There was a movement above the shop sign, and Jim instinctively placed his right hand on the gun. In the end, it turned out to be two sparrows that nestled in a little hole in the wall. Jim watched them take off, and he wished he could go as well. It was half past noon, and still nothing. He rubbed his hands to warm them up, even though it only lasted a brief moment. The temperature had dropped so much that his breath was actually visible.

 

It was then that he heard a rhythmic pit-pat, the sound getting ever nearer. Jim wondered for a millisecond before he realised that it was the echo of an umbrella tip touching the pavement. Indeed, a few seconds later Oswald made his appearance. Jim turned his back to him and rested his eyes on the shop, even though he was somewhat glad that this funny bird-man came to visit him again.

 

“What now?” he asked impolitely, pushing his anger in the wrong direction.

 

“I came to check on you, James. You really picked an unfortunate day for this stakeout.”

 

“You think?”Jim exclaimed, and shook his head as he spared a glance behind his shoulder.

 

“When were they supposed to arrive?” Oswald asked, as he inched closer.

 

“I’m not telling you anything. Work secret.”

 

“Come on, James, don’t be so stubborn.”

 

Jim sighed. Why did Oswald even care? “An hour ago.”

 

He felt a hand rubbing his upper arm. “You must be freezing in this light coat! Why didn’t you dress up properly?”

 

“Because I didn’t expect it to be this cold! It’s the end of April, for crying out loud, the sun should be shining!”

 

Oswald sighed, but didn’t argue further. “I suppose you won’t come with me to warm up?”

 

“No. They might still show up.”

 

“Why didn’t you come by car, though? It would have been more comfortable.”

 

“Police work isn’t comfortable, Cobblepot. Harvey didn’t want to give me the car. And anyway, it would have been suspicious.”

 

“I suppose. You shouldn’t risk your health, though.”

 

Jim shrugged. There was nothing else to do. He got a lead, so he had to check it, whether it was warm and sunny or raining cats and dogs.

 

“Here, let me give you this.”

 

Jim turned, ready to refuse whatever Cobblepot wanted to give him, but he was caught off guard by the man taking off his black and burgundy scarf. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Oswald stepped closer and wound the scarf around Jim’s neck. The detective observed Oswald’s lopsided smile as he made a knot, and then neatened the wrinkles on Jim’s dark blue coat. He hated to admit it, but he already felt better.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome. Please, don’t stay much longer, though.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

“I mean it, James. Take care.”

 

With that, Oswald turned up his coat’s collar and retreated yet again. Before he disappeared in the alley, he turned back. Jim didn’t know why, but he nodded, something like a “go, I’ll be fine” signal. Oswald nodded too, and then Jim was all alone again with his thoughts. The first thing he noticed was a waft of orange or some other sort of citrus. Jim sniffed the air for a moment, until he realised that the pleasant smell was coming from his new scarf. He buried his nose in the soft material, and inhaled the warm perfume which reminded him of a spicy tea, or those lovely cookies with dried fruits in them. Jim snorted and shook his head at the thought of Oswald smelling like a cookie. This cold was getting to his head, he needed to focus.

 

Jim kept his eyes on the shop, even though it felt like a formidable task. He was tired, he was hungry and he was shivering. At first it was just his hands: he searched his pockets for a tissue and when he brought it to his nose, he noticed that his hands were trembling. This was a terrible, terrible idea, and he cursed the bad guys, his informer, Harvey and everyone else who had wronged him in any way. Nevertheless, his loyalty, his sense of duty, the promise he’d made to Bruce – these all kept him there, unwavering in his foolish decision.

 

He didn’t know how much later, but soon the wind blew white flakes in his direction.

 

“What in the name…” Jim muttered, his teeth chattering.

 

As the heavy, grey clouds rolled in, the snowing shortly intensified to the point of a blizzard.

 

“For fuck’s sake!”

 

The indignation brought a bit of redness to Jim’s cheeks, but otherwise he felt like a corpse. He feared the tips of his ears would fall off, along with his nose. His feet were blocks of ice in his shoes, his legs numb. He reckoned that if he were to bend his knees, they would snap in two. His hands were worryingly red, so with a last look at his wristwatch, he hid them in his pockets. Almost three o’clock… what should he do? The shop looked just as abandoned as in the morning…

 

As if to aid his slowed-down thought process, a black car stopped in front of him. Jim looked up, and watched Oswald getting out, his eyes wide.

 

“Jesus Christ, Jim, pray tell, what are you still doing here?!”

 

“W-w-work.”

 

“You’re crazy, Detective! Have you not seen the time?! It’s obvious that nothing will happen. Good Lord, look at your hands!”

 

Jim did, staring at his purple nails.

 

“You’re lucky if you don’t lose one of them!”

 

Oswald put his hand on Jim’s elbow, dragging him towards the car.

 

“You’re coming with me, Jim.”

 

A detective hitching a ride with a member of the mob. Ridiculous.

 

“N-no, I’m fine…” Jim protested weakly, but Oswald would not have it.

 

“Like hell you are! You’re already showing signs of mild hypothermia. Get in the car,” Oswald said firmly, and Jim obeyed, sighing when warmth enveloped him.

 

Jim rubbed his hands together, and blew warm air on them, then he hid them under his thighs for a few moments. He then proceeded to massage his thighs, to get the blood flowing, but it felt like it was frozen in his veins. He noticed Cobblepot watching him, with a look that contained anger and worry in equal measure. Jim wouldn’t say it out loud, but he totally deserved a lecture. Instead, he turned towards the window, and watched the heavy snowfall covering the empty streets. Every sane person was taking shelter, of course.

 

Soon, a purple neon umbrella blinked in his eyes, alerting him to the fact that they made it to Cobblepot’s bar. The door was opened for Jim by Oswald himself, who guided him through the bar and up on a secret flight of stairs to what looked like his own apartment. In that moment, all Jim cared about was the warmth he felt everywhere, though he was not close to thawing. He stood awkwardly in the hall, but then he took off his shoes, and very reluctantly, his coat.

 

“You need to take a hot bath.”

 

“It won’t be necessary. I’ll stay here ten minutes, and then go.”

 

“Jim, you’ve been out there for hours! Look, you’re still shivering!”

 

He shook his head, but it was true: his body had been outside for too long.

 

Oswald sighed. “Come on. A hot bath is the quickest method to warm up a person.”

 

“I don’t want to impose…”

 

Then there was also the question of dignity, but screw that…

 

“You’re not,” Oswald replied as he hurried to the end of the hallway, and opened the bathroom door for Jim. “Take your time. There are towels and a bathrobe in the cupboard.”

 

Jim entered and stood in the middle of the bathroom, looking around lost. He stepped to the bathtub, and opened the warm water tap, sighing as the water hit his numb fingers. Bliss. He watched the water collect for a while before he took off his suit coat, and he started unbuttoning his shirt. There was a knock at the door and a muffled “Jim?”.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I’ll leave some warm clothes in front of the door, okay?”

 

Jim gulped. “Sure.” A moment later, “Thanks.”

 

He waited for the heavy steps to fade away before he resumed undressing. Jim closed his eyes with a sigh as he stepped into the hot water. He preferred showers, but once in a while he’d go for a warm bath to soothe his aches. This one was scalding, though, but very necessary in his state. Jim leaned against the back and closed his eyes. He’d dress up after this, go home and sleep under all the blankets he could find. Harvey would understand surely, though he would have to come up with a story – he’d rather not explain how he ended up in Cobblepot’s bathtub.

 

Jim shook his head at the absurdity of the situation. He looked around attentively for the first time, only then realising how out of place he was. It was an elegant bathroom, covered with teal-coloured tiles and accentuated with gold details, like the taps and the frame of the mirror. He felt like in a four-star hotel, or a luxurious spa. Beside the bathtub, there was an array of shower gels, hair care products, soaps and salts, but Jim only borrowed a shower gel, his ears reddening as he imagined that this was the product Oswald used as well. It didn’t matter, it smelled nice.

 

When his fingers became all pruney, and he felt that most of the chill had left his body, Jim got out of the bathtub and put a towel around his middle. He padded to the door and opened it quietly, took the clothes and closed it back. He suddenly felt so strange, but the relief at the prospect of warm clothes was more prominent than his embarrassment. Jim had no idea how, but the clothes Oswald left for him fit perfectly. He had to put on his old boxer briefs, but otherwise the thick socks, black sweatpants, grey shirt and black hoodie were warm and pleasant. He also put on the dark blue bathrobe he found in the cupboard to preserve the warmth.

 

Taking a deep breath, Jim opened the door. Guided by the noise, he peeked inside the second room on his left. Oswald was poking the fire when he turned around and noticed Jim.

 

“Come in, old friend,” Oswald gestured with a smile towards one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace.

 

With a sheepish expression, Jim entered the room and sat down in said armchair.

 

“Do you feel better?”

 

“Yes, thank you.”

 

“Glad to hear that. Would you like a drink?”

 

Jim promised himself that he would leave as soon as possible, in order to avoid anything strange (he was on unfamiliar Cobblepot territory, literally and figuratively), but he felt it would be extremely rude to refuse his kind host. He nodded, and Oswald poured a bit of whiskey for both of them. He handed Jim his drink and sat down in the other armchair.

 

“You have a nice apartment,” Jim said, because he thought that was the polite thing to do. He didn’t add that it completely reflected the owner: rich, without being tacky, a bit anachronistic, but cosy and welcoming.

 

“Thank you. I do hope it’s warm enough in here?”

 

“It is. This will surely kick in soon too,” Jim said as he brought up his glass and took a sip.

 

Oswald raised his glass as well. “You know, what you did out there was…”

 

“Incredibly stupid?”

 

“I was going to say irresponsible, but yes,” Oswald replied, shaking his head while giggling. “But I understand. You’re ambitious and undeterred in your work.”

 

“Just like you.”

 

The statement silenced both of them, and Jim couldn’t look up from his empty glass, his cheeks burning. Oswald was the first one to regain his composure.

 

“I had some food brought from the restaurant down the street. Would you like to have lunch with me?”

 

Jim responded positively. As he sat down in the rather simple kitchen, and watched Oswald reheat the food on the stove, Jim considered whether he accepted to stay out of a feeling of gratitude or obligation. The answer was unclear until Oswald returned to the table with two bowls of soup. Jim was famished, of course, but there was something about the situation that made his heart clench painfully in his chest. The snow was still falling ceaselessly, but they were warm and safe in the tiny kitchen. It was intimate, and it reminded Jim of late lunches with his mum, when she’d return from work, tired, but smiling and eager to hear about his day at school while she prepared their food.

 

Oswald was saying something about the weather, but Jim honestly couldn’t tell what it was, because he was focused on his host’s green eyes, the lovely way they crinkled at the corner, and he was lost. Luckily, Oswald got up then, and brought over a pot of beef stew and bread. Jim was so grateful for the warm food, and he felt this contentment spreading in his body with a glowing warmth that touched each of his cells. He leaned against his chair with a relaxed smile. It didn’t escape Oswald’s notice, who had that mischievous twinkle in his eyes, though he didn’t say anything either.

 

A few moments later, Oswald got up and brought a glass of water for Jim. Their fingers touched as Jim reached for the glass. The detective let out a surprised yelp.

 

“Jesus! You’ve been warming me up while your fingers are actual icicles?”

 

Oswald looked away sheepishly. “My hands are always cold when I’m nervous.”

 

“Nervous? About what?”

 

“Being around you…”

 

Oswald looked away after his whispered confession. Slowly, Jim’s hand inched towards Oswald’s. He took the man’s smaller hand in his, and squeezed the cold fingers. His other hand joined too, fingers sliding under Oswald’s palm and his thumb caressing the smooth, pale skin on top. All this time, Jim kept his eyes on their hands, but when Oswald took a sharp intake of breath, he looked up. Oswald was watching him wide-eyed, his mouth slightly open and cheeks red.

 

It was not a spur of the moment decision: there was nothing rash about the way Jim leaned in and placed a sweet kiss on Oswald’s mouth. The gesture had been brewing in him for a while, and he just waited for the perfect moment to do it. He tried to fight the urge, but there was no point, really. Oswald let out a quiet, yet surprised noise, so that Jim couldn’t help but laugh when he saw his host’s wide eyes. Oswald touched his lips with his pale fingers, and looked at his guest questioningly.

 

“Why… what was that?”

 

“A kiss.” Jim replied, his eyebrow raised in an amused fashion.

 

“Yes, but… you don’t have to. I mean, you probably just did it out of a false sense of obliga-“

 

Jim silenced him with another kiss, a little more determined this time.

 

“No obligation, Oswald. I wanted to, because I like you,” Jim added, his hands still caressing the pale, cold fingers.

 

“Oh, Jim…” Oswald sighed, and with his free hand reached out to cup the detective’s face.

 

They stayed like that for a while, just watching each other, until Oswald peeked behind Jim’s shoulder.

 

“Look, it stopped snowing,” Oswald exclaimed, dragging Jim with him to the kitchen window.

 

Jim took in the thin layer of snow that settled on rooftops, cars and trees, the grey skies and peacefulness of the street. What a strange sight it was, just as strange as he and Oswald must have looked like right then.

 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Oswald asked, his shiny eyes scanning the city.

 

“It is,” Jim approved, though his eyes were set on their entwined fingers. Oswald’s, too, were now warm, and Jim smiled, his gaze returning to snowy Gotham.

 

It doesn’t always snow in April, but when it does, it’s strange and beautiful in equal measure.

**Author's Note:**

> The absolutely lovely [Selena](http://gobblepot-art-and-ask-blog.tumblr.com/) drew fanart for my story! I am so happy and grateful!!! Have a look on her tumblr: [CLICK](http://gobblepot-art-and-ask-blog.tumblr.com/post/143968823863/i-did-a-fanart-for-this-sweet-fiction-3)


End file.
